


friends on the other side

by SyverneSien



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Animal Transformation, Gen, I'm Bad At Summaries, Magic, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Possession, Season/Series 07, Winged Charles | Grian, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29665086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyverneSien/pseuds/SyverneSien
Summary: Scar turns up on Grian's doorstep, having just escaped the clutches of the vexes, who are furious about his decision to reject them in Season 7. Before Grian can help him, his friend is taken over by a malicious entity calling himself BadTimes, summoned there by the vexes. It doesn't end well.Getting slightly panicky, Grian blurted out, “What do you want from me?”BadTimes’ expression split into a crooked grin. “I’m glad you asked. It’s really quite simple, Grian--I take GoodTimes’ place and sew doubt and mistrust between the Hermits, while you keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way. That means no spreading word about me in chat, no blabbing to that annoying admin Xisuma, and especially no running to Cub for help.”Grian gulped. “No,” he tried to say, but it came out as a quiet squeak.“Excuse me?”“No,” Grian said firmly. “I won’t- I can’t stand by and watch you destroy Hermitcraft! I’d rather… I’d rather die!”
Relationships: Charles | Grian & GoodTimesWithScar
Comments: 17
Kudos: 86





	friends on the other side

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't include it as inspiration because I think this fic went in a completely different direction, but I came up with some of the ideas for this work while reading the amazing [Once in a Blue Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24477100?view_adult=true) by blueticked! Highly recommend their works if you're looking for more vex!Scar/BadTimes/Scar content in general :3 and now on with the fic!

Scar had sworn off vex magic for Season 7. That was what he’d told Cub, that was what he’d told himself, and that was what he’d written on a piece of paper and tacked up on his wall so that he wouldn’t somehow forget _._ This season, he would use his _own_ magic, no matter how difficult it was. That was why he'd made the crystals. That was why he'd donned a wizard’s robes. He wasn’t some magical puppet of the vexes anymore. He was stronger than that. He didn’t need them.

The vexes said otherwise.

Yes, he still heard them. Whispers, blue flashes, that infernal laughter… it all haunted him. They wanted him back. He’d expected that they’d find someone new. But they only wanted him. And they weren’t happy about his oath to refuse them.

_Sca-ar,_ they sang whenever he got frustrated. _We could help you. We could give you all of your power back. Come to us._ He didn’t want it. _Yes, you do._ He wished they would go away. _Not until you come back to us._ He wasn’t- he wasn’t that monster they made him into. _You’ll always be one of us, Scar. You can’t escape it._ Was every bit of good he did just not good enough?

The bottle in Scar’s hand shattered, sending potion and glass bits all over his floor. He spluttered out a curse and the whispers of the vexes retreated from his mind, leaving him alone with the mess and stinging pain across his hands. He’d been getting more and more… like that, recently. Almost like he couldn’t control himself. Breaking things, snapping at people, slaying mobs when they wouldn’t do what he wanted--it was worrying Cub and it was worrying _Scar,_ for that matter. He knew what it was like to be a passenger in his own body and wasn’t eager to go back to that. It had worked out… sort of… but this was Season 7. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need _him._

A crystal fell out of his pocket while he was cleaning and he picked it up. Protection. There were a few cracks in it, probably from falling onto the floor, but it glimmered the same as it always had. Stupid thing. The crystals didn’t even _work,_ they were just shiny bits of glass and rock that Cub had deluded himself into believing in--there wasn’t and never had been anything _magical_ about them. He didn’t even know why he carried this protection crystal around. It shouldn’t make him feel _safe._ It was _useless!_

Scar threw the crystal onto the ground amongst the glass shards and stomped on it, his temple throbbing with anger and frustration. Something buzzed around in the back of his mind, urging him to stop, but he ignored it. The crystal had cracked, and when he put his foot down on it again it snapped in two, seeming to grow duller as he stared at the broken pieces. Instant regret welled up in his chest, though he wasn’t sure exactly why.

He had to get out. He’d clean everything up with magic later. He just needed some fresh air. Scar climbed down the stairs and realized that he’d left his elytra inside, but he didn’t want to go back in, so he turned and headed out into the forest without it. The sky was dark. If he ran into any mobs, he would have to escape on foot or fight. Which was fine. He rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake off his frustrations, unease, and the annoying buzzing in the back of his mind. Scar hated being angry over small things. It felt like a waste. It felt like _him._

Scar drifted through his village, wandering without knowing particularly where he was going. He was used to being drawn by magical energies. There were hundreds of different magics in the Hermitcraft world--discovering them was a pastime of his. He was usually warier about this, but he was _really_ in the mood for studying something and pouring all his energy into it. To get his mind off of things. Scar didn’t think twice before leaving his carefully-paved paths and delving into the dark trees.

He instantly got lost, which was unusual. He should know this forest like the back of his hand, but in the dark, everything seemed different. The canopy was thick--he couldn’t see any of the surrounding bases to orient himself. Scar turned back in the direction of where he had come from and tried to retreat, but he felt like he was going in circles. The jungle was noisy, even at night, especially with the buzzing that wouldn’t leave him alone, and Scar was sure he was about to be attacked by mobs at any moment. Curse him for leaving his elytra, curse him for thinking this was a good idea-

And then he heard Grian shout.

It came from Scar’s left, he was sure, and Scar’s mind switched gears instantly as he sprinted in that direction. He jumped over logs and raced around trees, using his magic to sense where they were in the dark, and called out, _“Grian?!”_ as loud as he could.

There was no response except for the sounds of the jungle, and Scar really started to worry. Grian’s base wasn’t far--if he was headed in the right direction, he should be able to make it there quickly, even on foot. Though it was hard when the undergrowth was intent on tripping him up; magic was only able to do so much. Scar called out again, to no avail. _Where…_

Frantic, Scar pushed through some branches and his foot caught on a vine, yanking his leg back and sending him crashing onto the ground. He groaned, trying to push himself up again with his arms, but then a bright flash of blue light blinded him and he was forced to stop moving and squeeze his eyes shut. He let out a noise of surprise and the buzzing in his mind _really_ went wild, urging him to get up and run. Then the laughter swooped in and Scar felt all of his muscles tense. The sound froze him, not because of any magical qualities, but simply because he was starting to realize what was going on.

They could’ve done this at any time. They could’ve just tricked him. _Why didn’t they?_ What was stopping them from-

The sight of the broken crystal flashed through his mind’s eye. _Ah._ A protection crystal. He’d thought it was useless… because he hadn’t realized what it had been protecting him _from._

He wasn’t ready. But Scar gathered himself, took a deep breath, and stood up to face the vexes.

_Why do you hide from us?_ the vexes chided. _You were so happy with us. Don’t you miss it?_

“No,” Scar lied firmly. “I don’t want to- to go back to that. Leave me alone; I don’t need you.” It felt good to actually say it out loud, but at the same time, he had a sinking feeling in his gut that filled him with worry.

The vexes laughed. _Brave little Scar, trying to pretend that he’s a good guy. You’re the villain, Scar! Don’t you see that? You were always meant to be the villain… you were always meant to be_ ours.

He wasn’t! It wasn’t his fault that other Hermits had started a fuss over the mycelium! He hadn’t done anything bad this season, he really… hadn’t… Scar slumped down onto his knees, feeling oddly exhausted and defeated.

_Now,_ the vexes growled, _are you coming back willingly or not?_

“Does it matter?” Scar asked quietly. “You’re going to turn me into _him_ anyway.” It had started as simply the vexes controlling him while he executed their requests. It was easier, they said, after Scar failed or backed out or felt guilty one too many times. But over time, they got sick of that, too, and so they created _him._ Scar remembered everything as clear as day and he knew this fate was inevitable. The vexes had caught him--there was no escape.

The vexes cackled. _You know us too well._ They paused and he looked up with a long sigh. _We’ve put too much work into you to give you up so easily, Scar. Besides… you’re still a perfect fit for the job._

“You want ConCorp back?” Scar questioned, though he knew it was a silly question. Of course the vexes wanted ConCorp back. They always wanted ConCorp back. They wanted chaos in the form of Scar and Cub being their loyal servants, even if Scar was so against it at this point that they had to take over his mind to make him follow their directions.

_You’re stalling,_ the vexes identified. _Are you scared?_

Scared? Scar had a lot of feelings about _him,_ and fear was definitely one of them. Fear of what _he_ might do in Scar’s body that Scar couldn’t stop _him_ from doing. “I don’t want this,” Scar snarled out between his clenched teeth. “Let me go.” He could run, but they would easily catch him again. Scar stood up, magic sparking around his fingertips as he took a step towards the vexes. It was his last attempt at revolution.

And he stumbled and fell back down again as pain blossomed across his back. Scar whacked his chin on the ground and cursed under his breath, trying to comprehend the burning he was experiencing. It had never been like this before. They had never hurt their prized Scar, he thought with venom, struggling to get up.

_We’re giving you a gift,_ the vexes said gleefully. _A permanent reminder of us. You made a deal, Scar, and deals are not so easily broken. I hope you will find them as useful as he does._

Scar’s vision turned white momentarily and something cracked while something else tore. His brain couldn’t even figure out what was happening to him--it felt like something was eating his back, maybe? No… the other way around… sort of? Or maybe it was something growing, like… and then it clicked. _Wings._

And suddenly the sharp pain was gone and Scar was shaking, sore from the unpleasant experience, and his wings flexed involuntarily. Because he had those now. Vex wings, he assumed. They felt small, but he knew they’d support his weight with a bit of magic. Scar drew in a slow breath.

He gave the wings a tentative stretch, surprised at how responsive they were. For a moment he completely forgot about the vexes, too focused on his new limbs. He didn’t really know how to feel about them--it would certainly be helpful to have them, especially with all the scaffolding he used these days. But then again, they were foreign and strange and given to him by the creatures he’d sworn off.

_Last chance, Scar,_ the vexes said, bringing his attention back to them. _You know it’s easier on you if you go willingly._

“Never,” Scar croaked. “Never again.” He could fight it, couldn’t he? Try to keep _him_ from taking over. His wings flicked out defensively and he took a step back.

The vexes huffed. _Fine, then. You’re free to leave._

“What?”

_Leave. Run. See if you can get back to your base before he takes over._ They paused. _Try out your wings._

Ah. Another sadistic game to see if Scar could warn someone before he lost control. He didn’t stick around to ask questions and waste more time--as soon as his brain had fully registered what was going on, he turned and bolted into the trees.

Then he remembered that he was still lost and looked up. He could find his base or somebody else’s easily from the sky, but he’d left his elytra at home and… Scar looked back at the pair of vex wings on his back. Well. Why have them if he wasn’t going to use them, right?

He flapped his wings a couple of times and was surprised by how strong they were. _It’s just like using elytra,_ he told himself, except it wasn’t, because being able to actually _feel_ his wings was completely throwing him off. But Scar didn’t have time for that. He was developing a headache and pins and needles in his feet--neither of which was a good sign.

Scar threw himself into the air, beat his wings a couple of times, and landed on the branch of one of the tall jungle trees. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight; he was facing Grian’s mansion, so he could figure everything else out from there. Then his knee buckled and he nearly fell out of the tree, which kicked his mind back into high gear.

_Get back home. Trap yourself somewhere. Make sure that_ he _can’t hurt anyone,_ said part of him as he looked in the direction of his base. Then he looked back at Grian’s mansion. _No,_ Scar decided. _I need to find someone and tell them what’s happening. Someone else needs to stop_ him.

Scar spread his wings and shakily flew towards Grian’s base. He was the most likely to be working at this time of the night. He’d at least be able to warn the other Hermits, maybe contain _him_ for a bit, get in contact with Cub and see if he could keep _him_ from destroying anything… he just hoped he didn’t have to wake Grian, though that was the least of Scar’s worries.

He hit the ground with his knees and nearly fell on his face again, scrambling up as best as he could while lacking most of the feeling in his feet. His head was really starting to pound and he held his forehead with one hand as he made his way into the mansion. “Grian!” Scar shouted, his throat feeling unusually dry. _“GRIAN!”_

“Scar!” Grian swooped around a corner, appearing much faster than Scar had expected, dropping a few items from his hands and landing neatly in front of Scar. He folded his feathered wings back, glanced briefly at Scar’s new limbs, then asked, “What’s going on?”

Scar narrowed his eyes, but this wasn’t the time to interrogate Grian about what he was doing. “Vexes,” Scar said, breathing heavily. _“He’s_ coming back.” He clenched his hands into fists, trying to work feeling back into them, but he knew it was futile. “You have to warn the other Hermits, you have to lock me up somewhere, I-” Scar staggered and Grian reached out to catch him by the arm.

“Scar, I don’t understand,” Grian said. “Who’s coming back? What’s happening?” He gave Scar a concerned look.

Scar took a deep breath and replied, “BadTimes.”

* * *

Of all the things that Grian had expected to see while working on his mansion, Scar crash-landing on his front lawn with a pair of vex wings on his back was not one of them.

He looked awful, Grian thought as he swooped down from where he was working to answer Scar’s shout. And he didn’t use that word lightly. “Scar!” Grian replied, landing in front of his friend. “What’s going on?” He couldn’t stop his gaze from landing on Scar’s wings--he hadn’t been aware that Scar was a hybrid too, though he figured those wings were small enough to hide.

“Vexes,” Scar told him hurriedly, and Grian’s eyes widened. _“He’s_ coming back.” Scar looked… scared. More scared than Grian had ever seen him. Who was _he?_ “You have to warn the other Hermits, you have to lock me up somewhere, I-” Scar started to stumble and Grian darted forward to hold him up.

“Scar, I don’t understand,” said Grian, eyes narrowed in concern. “Who’s coming back? What’s happening?” And what did vexes have to do with it? He’d thought that Scar was on good terms with vexes, or at least had an agreement with them. His memories of ConCorp were a bit fuzzy, as inter-season memories tended to be.

Scar looked at him for a moment then uttered in all seriousness, “BadTimes.”

_BadTimes?_ Grian blinked. _BadTimesWithScar?_ He’d thought that was a joke. He’d thought that was just a nickname that Scar had given to himself when he did ConCorp jobs. He hadn’t known that BadTimes was _real._ Unless Scar was pulling his leg, though Grian didn’t think Scar was that good of an actor. “Your… your ConCorp persona?”

Scar shook his head. “Not a persona.” It seemed to be getting harder for him to speak. “I didn’t- I didn’t like doing the work. I wanted out. So they made BadTimes and they made him do it instead.” Scar squeezed his eyes shut. “I can hear him. Grian, we don’t have time-”

“What do I do?” Grian asked. He didn’t have any experience with this sort of thing.

“Obsidian box. Then get Cub and tell the other Hermits what’s happening. Make sure… make sure BadTimes doesn’t hurt anyone,” Scar said.

“You want me to _lock you up?”_ Grian exclaimed. “Is BadTimes really that dangerous?”

“He doesn’t have a job to do. There’s nothing to stop him running wild.” Scar swayed a bit. “Grian, get that obsidian _now.”_ He blinked a few times and shook his head as if trying to dispel a pesky headache.

Grian let Scar go, eyed him warily, and then dashed to his chests. He quickly retrieved a handful of obsidian and turned back, his heart pounding as he saw Scar standing as still as a statue in his foyer, his hands clenched into fists. “...Scar?” Grian called quietly, taking a few steps towards his friend with the obsidian clutched in his hand. “You good, mate?”

Scar was silent for a few long moments, then his head snapped up and he looked directly at Grian. Grian gulped; Scar’s kind, moss-green eyes had changed to a cold, icy blue. “Grian,” said Scar, voice low and controlled. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Grian laughed nervously. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, hurrying past Scar to the entrance hall. “We were just- I was just-” He quickly hid the obsidian behind his back. _Should I run?_ Grian thought with a gulp.

Scar took a few steps towards Grian, who felt as if he’d been frozen in place. As Grian held his breath, Scar extended a hand to him. “Come now, don’t be scared,” he purred, and it was the opposite of reassuring. “My name is BadTimes.”

“G-Grian,” Grian stammered, politesse overcoming fear as he shook BadTimes’ hand. “What are you… doing here?” He wasn’t sure what to do about this--it would be hard to trap BadTimes now that he was seemingly in control.

“I’m not sure,” BadTimes admitted, pulling his hand back in an odd, stiff motion. Grian felt incredibly awkward--BadTimes looked like Scar and sounded like Scar, but at the same time, he moved and spoke nothing like Grian’s friend. “GoodTimes came here to…” realization seemed to dawn on BadTimes, “...get you to stop me,” he snarled out, gaze snapping back onto Grian. “I assume that’s why you’re hiding something behind your back. It’s- oh dear, um…” BadTimes reached up to touch his temple. “GoodTimes is being a bit of a nuisance right now. Keeps hiding memories from me.”

Grian slipped the obsidian into his inventory while BadTimes was distracted and held his arms out. “I’m not hiding anything,” he said quickly. “I’m not sure why Scar came here either.”

“Hm.” BadTimes crossed his arms. “Interesting.” He paused. “Are you on my side, Grian?”

“Your side?” Grian repeated.

“Ye-es,” BadTimes drawled. “My side. The side of causing problems and destroying Hermitcraft.” BadTimes took a step towards Grian and Grian matched it with a step back. He didn’t trust BadTimes at _all._

“Well, erm,” Grian started, wringing his hands together. “I’m all for a healthy little bit of pranking and chaos, you know-”

“So you don’t think that this place should be razed to the ground?” BadTimes lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t hold any ill will towards the other Hermits? There’s nothing you want to blow to bits?”

“No!” Grian insisted. “We’re friends! I would never do anything like that!” _But_ you _would,_ Grian thought, taking in the dark look in BadTimes’ eyes. He wanted to tear them all apart. “What- what have we ever done to you?”

“I only exist because GoodTimes was too much of a coward to get his hands dirty,” BadTimes spat angrily. “I’ve been cooped up for months--maybe years--with _nothing,_ all because GoodTimes didn’t feel like causing problems. Isn’t that worth being a little _angry_ about?”

Grian didn’t know what the right answer was, so instead, trying to stall for time, he just asked, “Why do you call Scar GoodTimes?”

“Because we’re both Scar,” BadTimes answered simply. “He’s GoodTimesWithScar, I’m BadTimesWithScar. If people are going to call me BadTimes, surely he should be GoodTimes, no?” BadTimes paused and took a step towards Grian. “This is all beside the point. I-”

Getting slightly panicky, Grian blurted out, “What do you want from me?”

BadTimes’ expression split into a crooked grin. “I’m glad you asked. It’s really quite simple, Grian--I take GoodTimes’ place and sew doubt and mistrust between the Hermits, while you keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way. Nobody was supposed to know, but, well, GoodTimes decided to ruin that, so if you just cooperate, then nothing… unfortunate needs to happen to you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned over Grian, making Grian feel small in comparison. “That means no spreading word about me in chat, no blabbing to that annoying admin Xisuma, and especially no running to Cub for help.”

Grian gulped. “No,” he tried to say, but it came out as a quiet squeak.

“Excuse me?”

_“No,”_ Grian said firmly. “I won’t- I _can’t_ stand by and watch you destroy Hermitcraft! I’d rather… I’d rather _die!”_ And for effect, Grian spat at BadTimes’ feet, surprised by his own indignance. (Though his words were really only just bark without bite, considering respawn was commonplace.)

BadTimes just stared at him for a moment, then snatched Grian up by his neck and lifted him into the air. Grian choked as the airflow to his lungs was restricted, watching cold blue eyes study him as he struggled. “You really won’t just keep your mouth shut?” BadTimes asked coolly.

“Never,” Grian croaked. Then BadTimes dropped him and he landed back on his feet with a _thud,_ reaching up to touch his throat as he gasped for air. Grian wheezed and doubled over.

BadTimes sighed. “Then I suppose I’ll have to get you out of the way, then.” He looked Grian up and down, and Grian took a few small steps away from him. A list of awful scenarios raced through his mind--infinite death loops, obsidian boxes with mining fatigue… “And I have just the perfect idea,” BadTimes said, pulling on a small smirk as his gaze flicked to Grian’s wings.

Blue sparks crackled over BadTimes’ fingers as he continued to speak. “You know what you are, Grian? You’re a pesky bird, with those wings of yours and your refusal to just _play along.”_ Grian’s wings fluttered anxiously when BadTimes mentioned them. “And if you want to be a pesky bird so much,” BadTimes grinned, _“then be one.”_

Grian flinched and tried to get away as magic washed over him, trickling like icy water on his skin and making him shiver. But something was holding him fast and his legs remained stuck in place as he struggled. He could hear BadTimes laughing, and when he looked over, BadTimes appeared to be getting bigger--no, he was getting _smaller._

He tried to move his arms, maybe grab a sword and attack BadTimes, but they wouldn’t respond. He tried to call out, but it just turned into a cough. And soon, when the bone-chilling freeze of the magic finally wore off and he craned his head back to look up at the figure towering over him, Grian realized that BadTimes had literally made him a pesky bird. His arms and wings had become one set of red parrot wings, and his shirt had become a chest covered in feathers. His legs had become thin with talons at the end, and when he tried to open his mouth to speak he opened his beak instead and let out a shocked squawk.

BadTimes reached down and Grian pecked his hand angrily. “Oh, come now, Grian…” BadTimes tsked quietly. “You can’t survive out in the jungle on your own like this. Let me take you back to my base.” He reached down again and Grian begrudgingly admitted to himself that BadTimes had a point.

With a furious look in BadTimes’ direction that was supposed to articulate ‘I hate everything about this but also don’t want to know what happens if I die while a parrot’, Grian hopped onto BadTimes’ arm and let out an upset caw.

“Don’t worry,” BadTimes reassured him as he lifted Grian onto his shoulder, “I’ll change you back once I’ve destroyed this place once and for all. Then you can blab to your friends about me as much as you want.” He threw back his head and laughed, and Grian realized as the pit in his stomach grew that there was absolutely nothing he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> WOO WASN'T THAT A WILD RIDE HUH  
> Love me a good ol' ambiguous ending... I doubt I'll ever give this a sequel, so what happens next is up to y'all!  
> This fic was supposed to just be based on Friends On The Other Side but then things got a little out of hand so... eh *gestures to the fic* hope you enjoyed anyway!  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, but thank you for reading regardless <3


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